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I suspected as much. But I’ve been hurt by so many other things recently, learning this doesn’t even register on my pain meter.
What I am curious about though is why they would do it. Why go through all the trouble?
“He loves me. He’ll never love you,” she goes on, a touch of desperation entering her voice. “You can get your daddy to make him marry you, but he’ll always be mine.”
“What?” I ask, truly confused now.
Eyes flashing with anger, she hisses, “Don’t play stupid. You can try all you want to keep us apart, but he’ll never be yours. Never. I’m not giving him up.”
Oh my god. She truly believes I’m the one pushing for this marriage.
Tristan must have told her that…
Jesus.
He’s a bigger bastard than I ever gave him credit for.
But Ashley’s not completely innocent in this. She didn’t have to carry on behind my back with him, she could have come clean sooner. And even if I give her the benefit of the doubt, even if she was afraid to tell me, she was still complicit in trying to hurt me.
This whole conversation is proof enough of that.
I can’t even begin to understand what kind of sick, fucked up relationship they have, but I do understand one thing out of all of this.
The two of them totally deserve each other.
“Okay, Ashley,” I say calmly as I try to extract my arm from her grip. “You can have him. He’s all yours.”
Ashley gives me a look of surprise that quickly turns into disbelief. “I don’t believe you.”
Dammit, I don’t have time for this. I need to get out of here before the dinner starts or someone else comes looking for me.
“Look, I honestly don’t care. I don’t want him. If you want him, take him. Or leave him. Whatever.”
Turning my attention away from her, I take in those around us. The crowd is finally getting thinner as people start to filter into the banquet area. It won’t be long now before all the speeches start.
Ashley’s fingers suddenly tighten around my arm and she starts to tug on me. “I still don’t believe you. If you’re not lying, prove it,” she demands.
I take one stumbling step backward, damn these heels, then yank my arm back. “Prove it how?”
“Say it in front of him. Say it to his face.”
I roll my eyes and make a sound of disgust. “I don’t have time for this.”
And I really don’t. I’ve already wasted enough time talking to her. Why I even bothered, I don’t know.
“See, I knew it. You’re lying,” she says accusingly and glares daggers at me.
I gasp at her audacity. She’s calling me a liar when she’s the one who was sleeping with my boyfriend behind my back? That takes some nerve.
Both angry and insulted, I almost give in to the urge to storm away. To say fuck this and make my exit. I don’t need this, I don’t deserve this, and I shouldn’t waste any more of my life on these people.
But there’s something tempting about her request.
Originally, I planned on making my exit without saying a word to anyone. But isn’t that what my father has trained me to do? Hasn’t he trained me to be quiet and to keep our dirty laundry out of public?
To always protect his image…
If I walk out now, without a word, no one outside this mess will ever know what happened. He can spin it however he wants. He can spin it that I’m the one in the wrong.
